


Twin Drums Beating

by wildwater



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Final Haikyuu Quest, Angst, Bad Parenting, Demon!Oikawa, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, M/M, Magic, Moral Dilemmas, POV Multiple, Slow Build, Violence, What am I doing, also i gave oiks a pet dragon try and stop me, first part predominantly just iwaoi, kind of??, knight!Iwaizumi, other characters and ships will sneak in, planning for kagehina and kiyoyachi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-07 17:45:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10366059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwater/pseuds/wildwater
Summary: Hajime is twelve years old when he befriends the demon boy living in the forest beside his village. People call him cursed, but Hajime is too distracted trying to become a knight to care. All he knows is that he could use a friend, and that Oikawa probably could, too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my folder for a while now and I keep coming back to it, so I thought why not post it. FHQ AUs are hardly new but you gotta write what you gotta write (I know very little about fhq anyway, consider it a loose interpretation.) First time writing these two so hopefully I did justice to their weird-ass dynamic. Tags and ratings will be updated as we muddle along. Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Title comes from [this](https://genius.com/Pablo-neruda-tie-your-heart-at-night-to-mine-love-annotated) very beautiful Neruda poem.
> 
> Additional A/N: I should point out that this fic contains bullying/violence based on hateful sentiments (albeit in a fantasy context), first scene included, if that's something that might be of concern. This does taper off and isn't a huge focus of later parts of the story when plot assumes a bigger role.

 

_I would take the world_

_And break it into pieces in my hands_

_To see you smile watching it crumble away._

– W.B Yeats

 

 

There were four boys gathered under the tree altogether, their necks craned to peer up into the branches and their fists full of stones. Circling the base, they nudged each other eagerly and then the tallest of the pack, a lanky boy Hajime recognised as the butcher’s son, stepped forward, drew back his arm, and flung the first stone.

It was a popular game, stoning crows. Their town was small, breeding boredom in the children moneyed or fortunate enough to skip doing chores or helping tend fields from dawn to dusk, and their boredom nursed their cruelty. Hajime had never seen the appeal of games, let alone cruel ones; if he wanted to escape this place someday and make it to the capital he’d need to spend every free moment honing his skills, slashing at tree trunks and imaginary opponents that would one day fight back.

A sharp cry pierced the air followed by laughter and shouts of encouragement. He froze and turned, lowering the wooden sword he’d been practicing with.

It was not a crow the boys were stoning.

“Get it, Ito, get it!”

“Aim for its hands!”

“Aim for its head!”

“Almost got it –”

There was a loud thud as the figure was shot from the relative safety of its perch and landed at the boys’ feet. With a whoop of victory they crowded around their prize, obscuring Hajime’s view, voices swelling as they abandoned stones in favour of fists and boots.

A distinctly human yelp of pain punctuated their strikes.

It would be stupid to interfere. If Hajime’s father were here he’d surely tell him to turn a blind eye and pick a new clearing to play in; it wouldn’t do to stir up trouble or give these boys and their fathers an excuse to make an enemy out of him. Heroes were just fools by another name. His father liked to stress that knights weren’t much better.

Hajime gripped his sword.

“Hey!” he called out, trudging forward. He grabbed one of the unsuspecting boys by the shoulder and flung him back onto the ground, infiltrating the tight-knit circle. “Stop that –  _stop_!”

They did stop, but only to shift their attention to him.

He swallowed and raised his weapon. “Get away from there,” he said.

Their makeshift leader stepped forward. He was in the first awkward lurch of adolescence, his face thin and spotted, smug in the few extra centimetres of height he had on Hajime. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He forced his features into what he hoped was an intimidating glare. “ _Get. Away_ ,” he repeated through gritted teeth.

“Ito,” one of the boys started, “I know this kid, he’s that weirdo I was telling you about, he’s _obsessed_ –”

But Ito wasn’t listening. Hajime felt a thrill shoot through him, a rush of excitement that came with finally having real opponents to test himself against. When the boy’s fist shot out he was ready, swerving to avoid it and striking him in the side with his sword. Ito swore and clutched the spot with his hands. Two others advanced in his wake but they were both smaller and cruder in movement than he was and he overpowered them easily.

The first boy he’d knocked to the ground had recovered by now, coming up behind him and attempting to lock his arms. Snarling, Hajime elbowed him and scrambled free but lost his sword in the process. It didn’t matter. He knew how to fight with his fists. He knew how to wrestle and he knew how to use another person’s strength against them because fighting was what he’d spent every day practicing for as long as he could remember, entreating Kai or Watari into sparring with him whenever the other boys were feeling indulgent. When he took a punch he was quick to retaliate with one of his own, landing it square on Ito’s nose and producing a satisfying crack.

“It’s not worth it, Ito, just give it up,” one of the boys panted, tugging at Ito’s shirt and glaring at Hajime. “I won’t hear the end of it if I come home bloody. We’ll get ‘em next time.”

Ito shrugged the boy off but nonetheless relented, clutching his bleeding nose. “You better watch your back,” he spat over his shoulder as they retreated. “Demon-loving freak.”

Hajime recoiled at the words, more surprised than anything else. He pressed two fingers to the corner of his lip; they came back stained red and he felt oddly proud at that, like it was proof of his being a fighter.

A stifled groan behind him reminded him why he’d been fighting in the first place.

He turned – blinking blankly a few times at the sight that met him – and said, “Are you alright?”

The boy, if he was in fact a boy, didn’t answer immediately, but clutched his stomach where it had been kicked. Hajime took in his appearance, the bruises and cuts dashing his skin, the chestnut mop of hair tangled with dirt and most of all, the two little black horns protruding from the top of his head.

_Demon,_ Ito had said.

“Hey.” Hajime crouched down and peered closer. “You know how to talk, don’t you?”

The boy lifted his head. His eyes, a warm brown colour, narrowed sharply. “Of course I know how to _talk_.”

“What’s your name, then?”

He didn’t appear eager to answer. His gaze busied itself weighing Hajime up, and it made Hajime antsy, being pinned under assessment like that. After a moment he said, “What’s yours?”

Hajime crossed his arms. “Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi Hajime.”

“Why…why did you help me just now?”

Hajime frowned at what struck him as a profoundly stupid question. “Because that’s what knights do,” he shrugged. It was all rather simple in his mind. Anyone who needed protecting, he would protect.

The other boy cocked his head. “You don’t _look_ like much of a knight,” he observed matter-of-factly.

Hajime spluttered. “ _You_ – maybe I don’t look like one yet, but I will, and anyway I saved your sorry butt, didn’t I?”

The boy stared at him for another beat as if equally bewildered by Hajime as Hajime was with him. He closed his eyes and hummed in thought.

“Hey,” Hajime pestered. “Hey, you don’t look too good, are you gonna pass out?”

“Probably,” he murmured unconcernedly, leaning back against the tree.

Hajime bit his lip. Even an untrained eye could tell that the cuts on the boy’s arm, angry and exposed, would be quick to infect in this heat. “We need to clean those up,” he muttered, although he wasn’t sure the boy was still awake to hear him. “I’m going to leave you here for a little while, okay? I’m just going to fetch some stuff from my house. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

As he made to stand the boy reached out and caught his wrist. He mumbled something unintelligible.

“What is it? I can’t hear you.”

“Oikawa,” he repeated, clearly. “My name is Oikawa Tooru.”

Hajime cocked his head. “Oikawa,” he said experimentally, and the boy smiled a little, experimentally.

 

* * *

 

Hajime had been seven years old the first time the demon child had been spotted in the forest beside their village, and of course people told stories. They were unearthly creatures, his father had said, and terrible omens. From that point on whenever a sickness spread or their crops failed people would say it was because the demon had poisoned the river.

But his grandmother, a low-level witch, had told him a different story altogether, about an abandoned child rejected by its mother. His father hadn’t approved but Hajime had always thought his grandmother a wise woman who was not so much strange as she was a keeper of secret things, things that other people didn’t see or hear or know about.

So he wasn’t all that bothered by the fact that the boy he’d just rescued had horns poking out of his head. He ran home, borrowed his grandmother’s healing pouch, and went straight back like he’d promised. When he returned Oikawa was still awake and still waiting where he’d left him. Hajime allowed himself a moment to be surprised, even though he probably shouldn’t have been; he was injured, after all. But he was also scared.

“I’m sorry,” he said, crouching down and rummaging about in the pouch for an ointment his grandmother had used on him countless times. “But this is going to sting a bit.”

Oikawa hissed when the ointment touched his skin. Hajime’s mouth twisted apologetically, but he didn’t stop until all the cuts had been cleaned. Inside, the disgust flared; Ito and his friends and their stupid, stupid games _._ With rough hands he bandaged up the worst gashes and clumsily wrapped his ankle. Oikawa watched him carefully, his eyes narrowed the entire time.

“Um, can you stand?” Hajime said, ignoring the looks. “I need to be back soon, but I can help you get home if you – well, if you can’t by yourself.” _Wherever home is,_ he thought.

Oikawa hoisted himself up, leaning against the tree for support. He tested out his ankle. “It should be fine,” he said, adding, “You can go.”

Hajime brushed the back of his head. “Ok, um. In that case, stay out of trouble, I guess?”

The boy’s eyes had narrowed again, less suspicious now than puzzled. “You’re pretty weird, huh,” he eventually pronounced.

Hajime blinked, then flushed. “Yeah, well, _I’m_ not the one with horns growing out of my head.” He clapped his mouth shut, grimacing inwardly. “Sorry, I –”

Oikawa’s giggle cut him off. “Grouchy, too.” Hajime stared at him, and he looked down at the ground. “Um. Thank you. For helping.”

Hajime nodded and stepped aside to let him pass. Oikawa gave him a small, uncertain smile before moving to leave but even as he watched him limping away, guilt prickled at Hajime. The boy was still in bad shape, but it wasn’t just that; his gut told him that if he left it now he’d never see Oikawa again. His grandmother would be appalled at that. She believed it was a person’s duty to follow up on the strange and unexpected in life and although Hajime didn’t quite know about _that,_ he knew that he could use a friend, and that Oikawa probably could, too.

“Hey!” he called out. Oikawa stopped and turned. “Wait. I can – I have _some_ time. If you want.” He shrugged. “You look like crap, so. You know. If you faint and fall down a cliff, it’ll be a whole lot of wasted effort.”

Oikawa glanced back at the forest, then at Hajime. He bit his lip. “Just to the river, okay?”

“Just to the river,” Hajime agreed. It wasn’t a long walk and it was better that way. Despite his instincts telling him that Oikawa could be trusted he still worried about venturing too deeply into the forest, alone with someone his entire village regarded as cursed.

The sun would begin to set soon but for now light still filtered past the canopy, warm and tinged with green. It was high summer and the air around them was thick with humidity and the smell of damp earth. Seijoh Forest was a secret, magic place; if you were quiet you could almost hear it breathing, could almost see the shadows inside it moving. It made sense for a boy like Oikawa to belong to it.

“How did you manage to get cornered by those idiots, anyway?” Hajime asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. As they’d progressed Oikawa had gradually relaxed, allowing himself to lean on Hajime for support, but even then his eyes had rarely strayed from the path ahead. The question made him glance up.

“Ah, I’m usually careful about going near the village,” he admitted. He smiled ruefully. “They don’t like me very much. But um, something important to me was missing, and I was pretty worked up, so I didn’t notice how close I’d gotten to the edge of the forest. They crept up on me and chased me out.”

Hajime figured he was being intentionally vague, so he didn’t ask the obvious.

“You know,” he said, “everyone in my village thinks you’re a demon.”

Oikawa hummed. “Everyone?”

Hajime flushed. “Well, my grandmother doesn’t think you’re evil, if that helps. Neither do I, I guess,” he added clumsily.

Oikawa laughed. “Thanks.”

“…Are you, though?”

“Evil, or a demon?”

“Um. A demon.”

“I don’t know. Probably? I don’t particularly feel like one, though. I suppose I’m just me.”

Hajime tilted his head. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“Sure. I couldn’t really tell you what being human feels like, either. I just know what being Hajime feels like.”

“Boring, until today?”

It took Hajime a second to realize he was being made fun of. “Nah,” he said. “You’re not that special.”

Oikawa bumped him in the shoulder for that, and Hajime laughed, a warm, unfamiliar joy bubbling inside him. He’d never really had a friend of his own before. There were boys in his village he got along with well enough, of course, but they weren’t very close, and they weren’t really his. They didn’t dream of a life beyond the village, whereas Hajime dreamt of little else. That made him odd.

But Oikawa seemed different, not just for obvious reasons. Talking to him was easy and Hajime felt hopeful.

Finally the trees parted before them, revealing a secluded clearing; brightness pooled into it as if into a basin. Hajime glimpsed the river beyond it, the waters gentle in this spot, rustling in the quiet.

“You live near here?” he said, incredulous.

“Yup.”

“Where? How?”

Oikawa merely tapped his temple with an impish smile. He moved past Hajime and stooped down beside the river, washing his face and drinking from cupped hands. Hajime was about to do the same when he heard the strangest sound from behind him; a cooing almost like that of a bird, except it was hollow, like an echo, and interspersed with sharp clicks. He moved towards it, catching the barest glint of black and indigo nestled between the undergrowth before Oikawa appeared before him and blocked his line of sight.

“What was that?” Hajime asked, trying to look over his shoulder, but Oikawa caught him by the arm and stopped him.

“It’s nothing.”

Hajime snorted. “Pretty sure it’s something.” His curiosity itched, but Oikawa’s eyes had grown fretful.

“I think – I think you should probably leave now,” he said.

Hajime’s grin faltered. Oikawa refused to meet his gaze. “Right,” he said, frowning.

Oikawa’s features softened. He opened his mouth to say something but seemed to think twice of it. “It’s just it’s going to get dark soon,” he said instead.

Hajime nodded dumbly.

“Do you… are you sure you know your way back?”

Hajime may not have been the most perceptive person when it came to people's emotions but it didn't take much to figure out why Oikawa might be wary around people, especially people from his village. He didn't owe Hajime anything. Besides, maybe there'd be another chance, so maybe it didn't matter. “Yeah," he assured. "Yeah, I was paying attention, don't worry.”

He gave Oikawa a quick smile before turning to leave. At the edge of the clearing, though, he glanced back, and lifted his hand in a wave. He didn’t think it would be returned but a moment later Oikawa waved back. It was enough to make Hajime sure they’d see each other again soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ushijima doesn't really appear in this chpt anyway, but just letting you know that he's been aged up somewhat here since there aren't all that many adults in canon to choose from + i thought he was the only one who could possibly fit this role.
> 
> Also, thank you to anyone who left kudos/commented! I doubt my writing a lot so it's very encouraging :) Sorry for the shortness of this chapter, I know it's a bit choppy. I'll try to make them longer in the future.

Tooru let his hand drop; the boy was gone. He immediately felt faint without the distraction and lowered himself to the ground, tired and sore, his body remembering its aches anew.

Kaiya sidled fully into sight and nosed his arm. She sniffed curiously at the ointment on his grazes.

The first thing he noticed when he finally looked at her properly was that she was alright; that was enough to make him breathe easier. The second was the piece of paper secured to her leg with string. Frowning, he pulled it off and, haltingly, made out the words on the slip:

 

_Keep a better eye on your friend, lest she wander into harm next time._

_(You will be pleased to know she ate half my peaches.)_

_U.W_

Tooru scowled and scrunched up the note, casting it violently away from him. Only that donkey could make an innocent message sound like a threat. It was almost as ridiculous as a dragon that liked peaches. Tooru would never forgive her fondness for Ushiwaka until the day he died, a fondness surely only sustained by his bribery. He looked down at the culprit before him.

“You almost gave me a heart attack, you know that?” he scolded. “I went past the forest looking for you!”

Kaiya’s tail sagged, and she made a soft, contrite sound. He sighed, too exhausted to stay angry with her. Loath as he was to admit it, the note was right; Kaiya rarely went missing for more than half a day at a time, and her hearing was powerful enough that she always came straight to his side when he whistled for her. When she hadn’t, his mind had jumped to the worst of conclusions, and not without cause.

Still – it was unfair to blame her for what had happened.

That ordeal hadn’t fully sunk in yet. He’d been stubbornly beating down his thoughts since it happened, but now that he was alone and assured of Kaiya’s safety, he struggled to avoid them. He’d been hunted before, whenever a particularly inconvenient disaster struck the village, but he’d never before been caught. Lately he’d cut himself off from the humans completely, avoiding even Ushiwaka unless he was truly desperate. If in his solitude Tooru had managed to forget what the rest of the world thought of him, the village boys had made sure to remind him.

And then there was Iwaizumi. Tooru was still uncertain what to make of him. Certainly not any _sense_. He was possibly mad, Tooru thought; but he was also interesting. Besides, the boy’s eyes had been gentle, at odds with the rest of him. They reminded him of his mother’s eyes when she wasn’t looking at Tooru. It had been a long time since he’d seen his mother, and even longer since anyone had looked at him like he might be a good thing.

That night as he lay in his den, curled on his pallet and trying to sleep, Tooru resolved to do two things; to pick some rare plants and fungi to trade with Ushiwaka, giving Kaiya no reason to venture near the reclusive botanist on her own again, and to find out more about Iwaizumi Hajime.

 

* * *

 

Hajime glared at the ceiling above his bed and fought to ignore the growling in his stomach. He’d been denied dinner after coming home late covered in bruises, and a bellyful of water could only do so much.

It hadn’t taken long for his father to discover the reason behind Hajime’s being caught up in a fight, and by the time his rage had settled down Hajime had given up any hope of visiting the river again the next day. As much as he wanted to go back and find Oikawa, it would have to wait. Maybe if he kept his head down for a few days – and his distance from Ito and his friends – his father would stop watching him like a hawk and he’d catch an opportunity to slip away.

So instead, he visited his grandmother; his father reluctantly allowed him that much. At eighty-one years of age, she lived alone in a small house with a thatched roof and colourful chimes by the door. In decades gone by his Obaa-chan would have been called on to bestow magical blessings on newborn children or ailing parents, or to perform the traditional rites for the end of winter or beginning of harvest, but not anymore. Society had drifted further and further from magic and magical beings, and these days, she mostly just served as the village healer and oddity. Hajime sat across from her wooden workbench while she ground fresh lightning root into a bright silvery substance for one of her more precious potions, idly cutting up the larger pieces to set aside for her. He told her about meeting Oikawa, and she smiled.

“You have a kind heart, Hajime,” she said. Hajime wrinkled his nose at that.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, shrugging. “I don’t know where he lives, and I’m not allowed to go back and try to find out. After what happened, he’s probably hiding, anyway.” He tried to sound unbothered. His grandmother knew him better than that.

“I’m sure he wants to be your friend, too,” she said, humor bright in her eyes.

“I don’t want to be his friend,” he bristled, even though he kind of did.

“How strange and wonderful…” She chuckled in that pleasant, earthy way of hers that always made Hajime think she was in on a joke with the universe. Reaching over to pat him on the hand, she murmured conspiratorially, “I’ll have a little talk with your father; that man is becoming so rigid, I’m afraid he’ll turn to stone. But in the meantime, concentrate! You’re cutting those roots too unevenly, and they are neither cheap nor common.”

Hajime nodded and adjusted his technique. Happy in the knowledge that he had an ally, he spent the rest of the afternoon listening to his grandmother talk about all the wonderful new potions she’d been experimenting with, and was reminded of why this had been his favorite place in the world growing up. The distinct smells and clutter, the wild garden and clucking hens outside, and his grandmother’s comforting voice – he knew it was the part of Seijoh he’d one day struggle to leave behind the most.

After that, Hajime’s father agreed it was a good idea for him to keep visiting and helping his grandmother, on the basis that it would distract him from his obsession with fighting and keep him out of trouble until things settled. But that was the full extent of his freedom, no matter what Obaa-chan tried to argue. As for Oikawa, his father had made his position clear over dinner.

“It would have been better for everyone if he’d been caught,” he said. “That sort of dark magic…” He shook his head. “I don’t want you near it, Hajime.” In a gruff but kinder tone, he added, “You know you’re all I have.”

Hajime did know. He barely remembered his mother, but he knew that she must have been incredible, because her loss still filled all the cracks in their lives and in his father’s especially. She had died of a sudden sickness when he was four, and to this day his father believed dark magic had been to blame. But Hajime thought it was unfair to pass that blame onto Oikawa, the same way the villagers tried to blame every bad thing on him. Oikawa Tooru just seemed like a kind of silly boy. He hadn’t even fought back against his attackers; how could he possibly be dangerous?

He wondered if Oikawa had been looking for him these past few days, or if he’d forgotten about Hajime altogether. He hoped his grandmother was right, and that he hadn’t. He looked out of Obaa-chan’s window in the direction of the forest and slumped in his chair. This seemed to be as close as he would get to it any time soon, and he felt caged, restless.

His grandmother had been watching him out of the corner of her eye. She nudged him. “Here,” she said, handing him a small pouch. “You’re no good to me just sitting there feeling sorry for yourself. I need fresh wormwood; would you mind picking some from behind the house?” Hajime nodded, taking the pouch. He was halfway out the door when she called out, “Oh, and when you’ve finished that, you can take a jar and go collect some spider-moss for me; I’m too old for it, my bones can’t take it anymore. Do you know what it looks like?”

Hajime blinked. Her eyes twinkled back at him, and he smiled.

“Of course I do, Obaa-chan.”

 

* * *

 

 

The clearing by the river was bright and empty when Hajime finally stepped into it. He peered into the dense greenery surrounding it; feeling a little ridiculous, he hissed out, “Oikawa?”

There was no reply. He had time to wait; Hajime figured he might as well finish his task. He set down the bag of supplies he’d brought with him and rolled his pants up to the knee, and taking the jar, waded into the river. The water was cool and refreshing, rippling around his shins. He spotted a rich supply of spider-moss clinging to the rocks a little further downstream; arranged in delicate web-like patterns, the green of them was so pale it looked silver, and was easy to miss. Half an hour later, though, he’d managed to fill the jar almost to the very top, and returned to the clearing feeling pleased with himself.

The first thing he saw when he got there was Oikawa, sitting on the banks and rummaging through his bag.

He grinned.

“Oi,” he said gruffly. “Don’t touch my stuff.”

Oikawa glanced up in surprise. He set the bag down unsurely, as if trying to decide whether or not he should feel guilty. “I thought Iwa-chan might have brought a present for me after hiding away.” He shrugged and crossed his arms. “But nope! All boring.”

“I wasn’t hiding away, dumbass, I was in trouble for sticking up for you. And ‘ _Iwa-chan_?’”

Now Oikawa did look guilty. “You really got in trouble?”

Hajime shuffled. “It’s no big deal.”

Oikawa scoffed, toeing the earth. “Humans really are awful.”

“Hey, _I’m_ human.”

Oikawa’s eyes widened dramatically. “ _Really_?”

Hajime just rolled his eyes; he felt like he was already getting used to Oikawa’s personality. He dropped onto the ground and took his bag from beside Oikawa. “I have this, if you want.” He threw a small wrapped parcel over to him. Oikawa peeked under the cloth.

“It’s just cake,” Hajime said. “From my grandmother.”

Oikawa smiled, unwrapping it. “A gift, after all! Your grandmother sounds like a good human.”

“Yeah,” Hajime chuckled. “She’s one of the better ones.”

Oikawa peered at him curiously.

“What?” Hajime said, feeling a little embarrassed.

“Nothing. It’s good cake.”

“You haven’t even tried it yet, idiot.”

Oikawa took a bite and hummed in appreciation. “Good cake,” he affirmed. Then he grew quiet, closing his eyes to his thoughts. “Okay,” he said upon resurfacing. “I’ve decided.”

Hajime frowned. “Decided what?”

“I feel bad for shooing you off last time.”

“That’s what you’ve decided?”

“ _No._ I just… I had a reason. I don’t know. I wasn’t sure I could trust you.”

“But now you do?”

“Now you’ve brought me cake,” he said solemnly. “And you got in trouble for me, so.” He gave a half shrug. “I need to repay you and prove I can be nice, too.”

Hajime opened his mouth, but Oikawa cut him off with a finger to his lips. He grinned, turned his head in the direction of the trees, and let out a two-note whistle. When he glanced back at Hajime, he looked nervous but excited.

At first, Hajime wasn’t sure what he was looking at, but slowly comprehension dawned on him; he’d seen pictures in his grandmother’s books before, but this was something else altogether.

Its scales were a deep charcoal colour, with a dark, feathered crest and wings that glinted indigo in the sunlight – the same indigo he’d caught a glimpse of that first day. Its eyes were wide and bright and firmly fixed on Hajime.

“Her name is Kaiya,” Oikawa offered. “And don’t worry, she won’t claw Iwa-chan’s eyes out unless I tell her to.” He smiled beatifically, and Hajime snorted.

He hesitantly held out his hand. Kaiya crept closer, sniffing at it for a moment before returning to Oikawa’s side.

“I think she thinks you’re smelly,” Oikawa mused.

“I think you’re a brat,” he said, but it was half-hearted; he was still too distracted by the creature curling at Oikawa’s legs like an oversized house cat.

“Where did you find her?” he said. “Her kind are so rare. I’ve never heard of one around these parts. In the mountains, sure, maybe, but never so close to civilisation.” He understood, now, Oikawa’s caginess the day they’d met; dragons were precious, and fetched a hefty price with nobility. It would be enough to propel a family like the Iwaizumis up an entire class. The fact that Oikawa had trusted him with this filled him with warmth.

“I didn’t. She found me.”

Hajime raised his eyebrows, and Oikawa scrunched up his nose, recalling the memory. “I was very young,” he said. “Maybe six. It was right after my mother left me in the forest and I was having a nightmare, screaming and crying. Then Kaiya was there, just like that – waking me up. She kept me company until I calmed down and she hasn’t left since.”

Hajime blinked. _I was very young, maybe six._ It seemed unthinkable; sure, Oikawa might not have been human, but a six year old was a six year old, even a six year old with a dragon to keep them company. Hajime’s curiosity burned, but he held himself back. “You think she came because she heard you crying?” he asked instead.

“Maybe? Dragons are weird. They leave the nest soon after they hatch to look for their masters, sometimes travelling great distances. Some people think it’s fated.” He shrugged. “Who knows what she saw in me.”

“I certainly don’t.”

“Bully,” Oikawa replied, and Hajime grinned.

“So she helps you get food, then?” he said.

“I don’t really need to eat much, but when I do, sure, she might bring me something. She’s not allowed to go too far out anymore, though, since she wandered into the village one time and a farmer’s dog almost got her. She’s sneaky and blends in at night, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

“A dog wouldn’t be too much of a threat to her, would it?”

“A dog, no. A farmer, yes. She’s still very little,” he said, stroking the creature’s crown. She nuzzled his palm and cooed contentedly. “And she’s the only friend I’ve got.”

“Oi.” He punched Oikawa in the arm. “What am I, a goat?”

Oikawa blinked in surprise. “No. Of course not, Iwa-chan.” He smiled, eyes glinting. “Goats have _far_ better personalities.”

This, of course, was unacceptable. The outrage and scuffle that ensued ended with Hajime chasing Oikawa into the river, and Kaiya blissfully following suit. Loud peevish laughter and the sound of splashing pierced the quiet of the clearing. By the time Hajime returned to the village, the day was almost done and he was exhausted; his grandmother greeted him with a smile, thanked him for the spider-moss, and promptly shooed him home. For the first time in a long time, Seijoh didn’t seem like such a bad place to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will probably take a little longer since I'm headed into exam/assignment hell sorry sorry


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> technically this is half a chapter but it’s been a while so I’ve split it in two. I’ve rewritten it to death and i'm still not exactly happy w/ it but when am i ever
> 
> also, for timeline purposes I’ve bumped their starting ages up to 12. in case it wasn't obvious this is going to be a long fic so yah get comfy folks :)

The following weeks passed like a breath. Quietly, Oikawa became as much of a fixture in Hajime’s life as his boyish ambitions. Between chores, he would visit the riverside every couple of days under the guise of helping his grandmother. He’d whistle for Kaiya and she’d bring Oikawa with her, and Hajime would reward her with sweet fruits and praise that made Oikawa turn up his nose at the both of them. They talked and fought and swam and explored, and although a shadow still occasionally slunk over the other boy, Hajime thought Oikawa was happier; the day they’d met felt like a distant memory, and he was content to keep it that way. The clearing was a haven where the ugly things didn’t matter. It was also a secret, and Hajime couldn’t deny that he enjoyed having one; it had seemed so dangerous and thrilling back then. He wasn’t used to dangerous and thrilling things, and he liked how it made him feel grown up.

One day a sudden downpour struck and they ran for shelter past the river, slipping through the jaws of rock face and emerging into a sort of underground cave. Light and water trickled in through small cracks in the ceiling, but for the most part it was dry. While Hajime caught his breath, Oikawa lit a candle, brightening the dim space. Hajime looked around it and felt strangely numb.

“I can’t believe you have a lair,” he said.

“It’s not a _lair._ ” Oikawa looked vaguely offended. His stupid pout made the heavy feeling ease.

“Yeah, it is. You even have the dragon to match.”

“Well, she _was_ the one that picked it,” Oikawa admitted.

“It’s not so bad,” Hajime said, and it wasn’t, after his initial surprise wore off. “Where did you get all this stuff anyway?” It was as lived in as an underground den possibly could be. Along with the stock of candles there was a futon in the corner, blankets, a pillow, and various knick-knacks: glass jars and tiny vials that looked like something his grandmother might have, a couple of neglected books, pots and wooden bowls and a spare set of clothes. A messy nest of straw, twigs and other dubious materials marked where the still-small Kaiya must have slept, if only to be closer to Oikawa. On a bright day, there would have been a comfortable amount of sunlight, and on a day like today, the air was crisp with the smell of forest rain, pattering steadily outside.

“A generous forest deity gave them to me as an offering,” Oikawa said, and Hajime cast him a look. “More of a nosy neighbor, really.”

“You don’t sound like you like them very much.”

“That’s because I don’t,” he said cheerfully, like he was proud of Hajime for noticing.

“But…they help you.”

He wagged his finger. “My friendship can’t be bought, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime made a face, and only complained a little when Oikawa changed the subject. It was pointless to push him to talk, he’d learnt; he’d tell Hajime things in his own time, and for now Hajime was happy to humor Oikawa’s debate about which mythical creatures were real and which ones really were just mythical. He waited until the rain eased before going home, and that day felt guiltier than usual leaving Oikawa behind. Seeing the lonely futon just reinforced that he was alone in between Hajime’s visits, apart from Kaiya and the makeshift-benefactor that for whatever reason, Oikawa seemed to hate anyway.

The unfairness rankled. As nice as the riverside was, he wanted Oikawa to be able to visit him, too. He wanted him to meet his grandmother and see the good in the village, like the spring festival when everyone came together and made music and danced under lanterns, or the bonfires and children’s races and the way people put aside their gossip and differences when it was time to look after one another. Maybe then their superstitions would dissolve, and they’d see the good in Oikawa, too.

He would make it happen, one day. He didn’t know how yet, but he had a lot of time to figure it out. Underneath his gruff temper he was a surprisingly patient person; his tolerance for Oikawa’s eccentricities proved that much. The knights he so admired had missions and quests, and Hajime decided that this would be his first.

Back home, things lulled. He’d swallowed his pride and apologized to his father, admitting he was wrong, and after that his father had loosened the reins. The only problem, really, was Ito. Before, they’d never paid each other much attention; now whenever he passed by Hajime, he would knock into him or hiss insults or vague threats, and being around his friends only encouraged him. At first, Hajime had been more irritated than worried, but Ito was getting bolder. On one occasion, Hajime was sparring with Watari, Kindaichi sitting on the grass beside them and eating an apple; they’d just finished and sat down to join him when Ito’s group appeared and began to hover a small distance away.

“What’s up with Ito?” Watari asked. “He’s freaking me out more than usual.”

“He keeps looking at you like he’s planning to murder you,” Kindaichi added, looking worried.

“I broke his nose in front of his friends,” Hajime shrugged, wiping the sweat from his face. “He’s just trying to remind them he’s tough.”

“Yeah, by murdering you.”

“He’s a coward, Kindaichi, he’s not going to do anything,” he said, although he wasn’t entirely sure.

Ito smirked over at them. “Making friends lately, Iwaizumi?” he called, and Hajime cringed.

“What’s that about?” Kindaichi said. He lowered his voice, even though there was no danger of being overheard. “Is he talking about, you know, the demon?”

“Probably,” Hajime said, trying to keep his tone casual.

Kindaichi and Watari exchanged a look. “So it’s true, huh?” Watari said. “You did side with the demon?”

“I wasn’t about to side with Ito.”

“Yeah, but.”

“You weren’t there. You didn’t see – I mean, he was just like you or me. What was I supposed to do?”

“Is it true it has horns?” Kindaichi interjected.

“Yeah,” Hajime said, “ _he_ does.”

Watari looked curious. “Does he really do dark magic?”

“What? No – I don’t know.”

“My mother said that he has eyes the color of blood, and that if you look into them he can kill you,” Kindaichi clicked his fingers, “like _that._ ”

“Well, your mother is wrong,” Hajime snapped, a little louder than necessary. Kindaichi and Watari both stared at him, and he felt his face heat up. He looked down at the ground to avoid them.

Mercifully, the younger boys didn’t dwell on his small outburst for long. They were more concerned about Ito and his plans. Hajime was becoming concerned, too, despite claiming otherwise. Ito eventually moved along, but the next time Hajime made his way into the forest, he found himself being followed. He managed to lose the three boys, but his sense of security was shaken – he’d almost led them straight to the clearing, straight to where Oikawa lived. The close call made his heart pound and his features grim, enough for Oikawa to notice something was off.

“You should have let them follow you,” he said, after Hajime told him what had happened. “We could have hidden in wait and thrown stones at them when they arrived. Do you think Ito’s the type to squeal?”

“Oikawa,” Hajime reproached. He knew he was joking, knew he had a right to that much, but he couldn’t find the same amusement Oikawa did in it.

Oikawa’s mouth stretched into a smile. “Fair is fair, Iwa-chan!”

“I don’t want to give them any more reason to go after me. Or you.”

“Aw. Iwa-chan cares about me.”

“Not a lot. Shut up.”

“Do you really think they’ll go after you?” Oikawa asked, growing serious.

“They’ll stop once Ito stops, I think. And he’ll get bored eventually.”

Oikawa’s expression grew distant.

“Hey,” Hajime poked him. “What is it?”

“It’s just _stupid_. Why does he even care?”

“I don’t know. He needs a hobby.”

“Maybe he needs you to punch him again,” Oikawa grumbled. Hajime chuckled and admitted he wouldn’t mind it, if things came to that. But he hoped they wouldn’t. He could handle Ito, and maybe Ito’s friends, but if anyone else got involved he’d be helpless.

He had to do _something,_ though. The only option was to convince the village boys there was nothing worth following – and the only way to do that, Hajime suspected, was to stop visiting Oikawa. He put off bringing it up. When he finally did, the idea was as ill received as he’d expected it to be. Oikawa was set on a more direct method; he spent the next hour indulging in annoyed huffs and monosyllables, and the hour after that proposing they just curse Ito instead. He grudgingly relented after Hajime promised it would only take a week or two.

“But!” Oikawa conditioned, raising a finger. “Then you have to come back.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hajime said, waving him off.

Oikawa narrowed his eyes. “Not like _that_ – you have to promise, Iwa-chan!”

“I said I’ll come back, Crappykawa.”

“And you have to bring me a present, too,” he added with a sly smile, crossing his arms, to which Hajime replied by flicking him in the forehead.

The next time Ito followed him into the forest, Hajime branched off onto a new route, steering away from the riverside clearing. He made sure to be as slow and innocent as possible, picking plants for his grandmother and catching insects and napping in the sun. The quiet was oppressively dull without any ceaseless chatter in the background to pester him. In the past he wouldn’t have minded it, would have even _preferred_ it, but he found he’d already grown unused to being alone. Oh, Oikawa was still a brat, Hajime thought, but at least he was entertaining about it. He grew on you, like a particularly colorful fungus.

Hajime took to repeating his new routine even when he wasn’t being followed, just to be safe. Sure enough the boys quickly laid off in boredom – all except for Ito, who looked at him suspiciously in the village, clearly unconvinced. And Hajime hated it. Brat or not, Oikawa was his first best friend, and not being able to hang out together for any extended period of time seemed like the greatest injustice imaginable. It felt like losing to Ito, and sometimes he wished he _could_ just solve this by confronting the other boy. Hajime itched for another fight, for the satisfaction and buzz it gave him, but he had a feeling that in this case it was smarter to keep his head down. He couldn’t afford to make too much noise or make anyone angry. He’d seen what the villagers could become when they remembered to hate the demon in the forest.

Still, he was losing his patience. Ito was, too; they were both too young and too brash to put up with mind games for long.

Ito snapped first. On the fourth day, he clambered out from behind his ineffective hiding spot and kicked away the bag Hajime had slowly been filling with mushrooms. Hajime stood up immediately, not bothering to feign surprise at Ito’s sudden appearance.

“ _Enough_ ,” Ito said, face twisted with exasperation. “Where is it, already?”

Hajime had begun bringing his wooden sword with him, just in case, but now that he needed it, it was uselessly out of reach. He balled his fist at his sides. “Where’s what?” he said calmly, aware that it would only anger Ito further, yet unable to resist.

Ito shoved him in the shoulder. “The demon,” he snarled. “Don’t play dumb. I know you’ve been hanging out with it here.”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t seen him since _you_ scared him off.”

“I wish I had,” Ito scoffed. “But I know you’re lying. I’m not an idiot.”

Hajime looked at him doubtfully, and Ito clenched his jaw. “You’re putting the whole village in danger,” he said.

Hajime snorted at that. “Like you care about the village.”

“I obviously care more than _you._ ”

And the truth was, Ito probably did. The village was his world. Hajime, meanwhile, was sick of it – now more than ever.

“Leave me alone,” he snapped. “What do you know, anyway? He’s not hurting anyone.”

“It’s a _demon,_ ” Ito said, pushing further into Hajime’s space. _“_ The whole _point_ of them is to make evil – that’s why they _exist_. Don’t you get that? Are you seriously that stupid? If it’s acting like your friend, it’s just because it wants to use you somehow to hurt the rest of us. Give it up.”

“Shut up,” Hajime grit out, fighting the instinct to step back. “I told you to leave me alone.”

“Tell me where it’s hiding and I might,” Ito said.

“No.”

Ito shoved him harder this time, and Hajime fell back onto the ground.

“Whatever,” Ito said, thrumming his fingers against his leg. “If you’re here, it’s gotta be nearby somewhere. I’ll tell my brother and he’ll find it.” He glanced back down at Hajime. “Then your father will know you’re a freak.”

He gave Hajime a final kick, before disappearing back in the direction of the village. Hajime hoisted himself up, trembling with frustration. He should chase after him, should catch him, should _hurt_ him – he cut himself off and lashed out at the tree next to him instead, an exasperated cry escaping him. His plan had failed and seemed so utterly stupid in hindsight. Now Ito was going to rattle the village and probably tell all sorts of lies to do it, as well as the truth about Hajime’s visits to the forest. His father would never let him see Oikawa again, and the idiot would be alone again, even worse off than he was before Hajime. He brushed away his tears angrily. With bitter resignation, Hajime made his way home, crept into his room, and waited for the storm to hit.

Except it never did. Not that day, and not the next. His father was silent as usual over breakfast, and nobody seemed any more or any less bothered about the demon than they had been yesterday. On his way to his grandmother’s, Hajime’s path crossed with Ito’s. The other boy clenched his jaw and walked past him without a word.

Relief coursed through Hajime. Ito had been bluffing, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

The list of things Tooru hated went a little like this: cockroaches; rain-soaked shoes; wintertime; Ushiwaka; being told what he could and couldn’t do; mean boys with stones; mean boys who didn’t know when to give up; mean boys who thought they were smarter and stronger than he was; his mother; the color red; losing. The last two things were both etched on his bones but his hatred of one still outweighed his hatred of the other.

He only regretted cornering and terrifying Ito for a moment before that regret was quelled by satisfaction.

Oh, he hadn’t done anything _truly_ bad to him. Tooru wouldn’t allow himself to go that far. He’d just scared him a bit, just let that side of him bubble up to the surface to breathe where Ito could glimpse it, and whispered a few words about a latent curse that would awaken if Ito ever stepped over the line he’d drawn between them. Tooru didn’t actually know any curses, but he liked how Ito’s eyes had widened when he pretended he did. And it surprised him, how easy it was to play that part after watching what had happened in the clearing; surprised him how angry he’d been, and how little he’d been scared.

He became a little scared afterwards, though – after Ito was gone, and his anger and excitement died down and he was alone again. He ran to the river, heart pounding, and stared down at his rippling reflection. Brown eyes stared back at him and he fell back onto his heels. His mouth was dry; he drank some cool water and his heart rate gradually slowed. It was stupid. He knew he’d done the right thing, knew that he would have been a terrible friend to have just hung back and let Ito get away with hurting Iwaizumi. He shouldn’t feel bad about using whatever power he had in order to help the person he cared about most. That would be like admitting Ito had been right, and Ito would never, ever be right.

He wouldn’t let his doubts get to him. This wasn’t the same as last time because Tooru was careful now, he knew better, he _was_ better. Iwaizumi was safe because of him, and would be able to visit again because of him.

He smiled slightly at the thought, anxiousness subsiding.

Besides, Tooru had other concerns to turn his mind to. When he got back to the den Kaiya still hadn’t moved an inch from where he’d left her. He crouched down and stroked her neck, frown deepening when she barely managed to open her eyes at him. She had been sick for almost three days and was getting sicker. Something like this had never happened before. He didn’t know what to do; he’d flicked through one of the books on dragons Ushiwaka had given him but he couldn’t make sense of it enough to find answer.

“It’s okay,” he murmured as Kaiya dropped her head again. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ll… I’ll figure this out. I promise.”

He sighed, already resigning himself to his last resort. Later that day he made his way to the botanist’s house, a humble place hidden in the middle of a copse of trees, more a part of the forest than it was a part of any village. The house was surrounded by a low, beaten fence, which contained the thriving garden of plants, both magical and non-magical, that Ushiwaka devoted his sad existence to and that Tooru had never really bothered learning much about. Nobody answered the door when he knocked. That wasn’t strange. Ushiwaka spent a lot of time wandering about the forest doing whatever it was he did all day. Tooru sat himself down on the front stone steps, knees tucked under his chin, and waited.

About an hour later Ushiwaka returned. He didn’t look surprised to see Tooru, but then again he never looked much of anything. The only expressions his stony face seemed capable of were vague disgruntlement and even vaguer pensiveness.

“Hello,” Ushiwaka said.

Tooru grit his teeth. “Kaiya is sick,” he muttered.

Ushiwaka nodded once before stepping past Tooru into the house. He left the door open and Tooru took it as invitation to follow. The inside of the house smelled more like earth and soil than the outside had. Ushiwaka set down the bag he’d been carrying with him onto a worktable already scattered with various instruments and dried leaves and roots. Tooru knew there was a strict method to the jumbled madness, although Ushiwaka was the only one who could see it.

“How long has she been sick for?” Ushiwaka asked.

“Maybe three days.”

The only sign of disapproval on Ushiwaka’s face was a faint purse of the lips. “You should have come to me for help sooner.”

“I don’t want your help,” Tooru said reflexively, even though it contradicted his entire reason for coming. Ushiwaka raised his eyebrows slightly.

“You may not want it, but you clearly need it.”

Tooru clenched his jaw. This was part of the reason he hated coming here so much. Ushiwaka always found a way to make it _difficult,_ and always made a point of telling him how helpless he was. “I _can_ manage without you, you know,” he said. “It’s just easier this way, sometimes.”

“No, you can’t,” Ushiwaka said plainly. “You can’t manage alone.”

Tooru scoffed. “Because _you_ have so many friends.”

“I have enough.”

“Are they invisible?” Tooru said, knowing how childish he sounded.

Ushiwaka sighed. “No.”

“You should go back to them, then.”

“Someday I might. But now I’m studying the forest. And my house is here.”

“Whatever.” Tooru crossed his arms. “I’m not alone, anyway; I have Hajime.” Then he winced at himself. He hadn’t meant to let that slip; he’d just wanted so badly to prove Ushiwaka wrong.

“The Iwaizumi boy?” Ushiwaka finally surprised, and Tooru turned his head away.

“Maybe. How do you know him, anyway?”

“The elder Iwaizumi buys supplies from me,” Ushiwaka answered, which Tooru supposed made sense; Iwaizumi often performed more menial tasks like collecting orders for his grandmother. Ushiwaka frowned. “Is he a good friend?”

“A better friend than you,” Tooru said, more than a little petulant.

A strange look Tooru couldn’t pinpoint passed over Ushiwaka’s eyes. “I’m glad.”

“You don’t _look_ glad.”

Ushiwaka just frowned again, and Tooru sighed. It was pointless, with him. For all the years they’d known each other, he still barely understood Ushiwaka, still barely knew his story. Maybe there wasn’t much to understand but there were moments when Tooru doubted that. In the end he was too proud to ask, convinced that Ushiwaka only helped him either out of pity, a false sense of superiority or because Tooru was just another curious forest-thing for him to study. Ushiwaka had never been the type to volunteer information about himself, either, so they remained at a stalemate.

They had gotten off point. Ushiwaka knew it as well as he did and resumed asking questions about Kaiya’s symptoms. How responsive was she? Where was her pain primarily concentrated? Afterwards he hummed thoughtfully and retreated into the back room, returning some ten minutes later with a small vial in his hand. “Your dragon is developing the ability to breathe fire,” he said simply. “It is a taxing process, but l suspect it’s nearing its end. Three drops of this on the tongue should settle her symptoms.”

Tooru blinked in disbelief, taking the vial from him. Kaiya was over six years old and still unnaturally small for her age, and he’d begun to resign himself to the fact that she’d never breathe fire. A tide of hope washed over him; he muttered a grudging ‘thank you’ to Ushiwaka and wasted no time in returning home and administering the elixir. Kaiya snarled when it hit her tongue but quickly settled. She blinked slowly as if awakening from a deep sleep and hung her head, breath heaving and shoulders hitching like she was going to be sick. Instead she made a retching, coughing sound, and then it happened – barely a puff of flame, but _fire_ nonetheless. Tooru beamed and showered her with praise; it was just the beginning.

Night soon fell like a cloak over the den. It had been a long and eventful day and Tooru felt the exhaustion deep in his bones. Kaiya curled up again to sleep off the rest of her weakness, and he crawled under his own blankets with a mixture of dread and resignation.

Sleeping was another thing he hated, because sleeping meant dreaming, and dreaming meant nightmares.

That night was just a variation of every other. Tooru was six years old again – in front of him a girl, writhing on the ground crying _stop, Tooru, stop!_ But he didn’t know how to stop, didn’t know the right words to say, wouldn’t even be able to move his mouth if he did because he was frozen with fear. There were dark tendrils wrapping around her neck and he couldn’t unmake them and she was dying, she was _dying_ – his mother screamed his name like it was made of shattered glass. All of a sudden they were in a different place and his mother carried him on her back. Tooru pressed his cheek to her hair and it was soft and smelled like all he knew. There were scratches on her arms and on one of her cheeks and stars and treetops swimming above their heads. He hadn’t expected the earth to be so cold or so damp and now he was the one screaming, screaming I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t go, I didn’t mean it, Hajime I’m sorry –

Tooru gasped awake. The den was silent and his cheeks were wet. Outside the wind had picked up, rustling through the leaves. Kaiya lifted her head and peered at him through the dark, the glint of her eyes catching on stray bands of moonlight. He reached out and ran an absent hand over the crown of her head, tracing one of her horns, not unlike his own, then leaned back and closed his eyes.

Everything was all right. It wasn’t real. It was over. Tooru dug his nails into the material underneath him. This was real. He just needed to breathe, just needed to hang on for a few more hours. Then morning would arrive, and so would Iwaizumi. Tooru would show him the new trick Kaiya had learned in his absence and Iwaizumi would be grudgingly impressed, and then they’d laugh and play and chase each other under the sun where mean boys and nightmares couldn’t ever touch them.

 

* * *

  

It was absolutely not a present, Hajime comforted himself, as he threw the trinket in Oikawa’s general direction. It was just a thing. A precautionary thing. Technically, it was a witch’s talisman – a small, rounded black pebble, engraved with two eyes on one side and a sun on the other, hanging like a pendant off some string.

“It’s a protective charm,” he said. “Wear it, don’t wear it – I don’t care.”

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Oikawa turned it over in curiosity. “Aren’t these sorts of things usually for protection against me?” he asked.

“They’re for protection,” Hajime said. “End of story.”

Oikawa seemed to turn that over, too. Finally, he made a pleased sound and tucked the talisman under his shirt, hand lingering where the cold stone now rested. When he looked up, he grinned. “Thanks, Iwa-chan! I’ll take super good care of it.”

“Don’t make it a big deal,” Hajime said, cheeks warm with embarrassment.

Oikawa just laughed. Hajime thought he looked unusually tired, though, his expression and movements riddled with exhaustion. He waved Hajime’s questions off, explaining that Kaiya had been ill while he was away. There was a happy explanation for it, he promised, which became apparent as soon as Kaiya puffed her nostrils, opened her mouth, and turned her breath into fire. Beside her, Oikawa clapped in delight, then raised his eyebrows at Hajime expectantly.

Hajime shrugged. “Pretty cool,” he concluded. It was more than pretty cool, of course; he was witnessing a young dragon that had just begun to breathe fire and that inspired nothing short of awe. His excitement must have shown because Oikawa didn’t whine about the lack of it.

“I was starting to get worried,” Oikawa confessed, tapping his chin. “It should have happened by now. But she’s just a late bloomer.” His brow furrowed with displeasure. “Turns out Ushiwaka was right.”

Hajime glanced up. “You mean Ushijima-san? The botanist?”

“Hmm.”

“I know him.” On the occasions he’d gone to pick up supplies for his grandmother, Ushijima had struck him as calm and good-natured, if a little odd, and not half as threatening as his unsmiling appearance initially suggested. He didn’t speak unnecessarily and mostly kept to himself. Hajime’s grandmother said he was one of the few non-magical botanists left who cared about and respected the magical arts.

A thought occurred to Hajime. “He’s the one that helps you out, isn’t he?” It seemed obvious. Ushijima kept his distance from the village, and wasn’t too concerned with its motions and moods. He spent a lot of time in the forest and could have met Oikawa that way.

“Yep.”

“He isn’t so bad, though. Why don’t you like him?”

Oikawa made an impatient sound. “Because he has the personality of a rock.”

“But he’s been helping you for so long. No one else has.” He thought of the den and how Ushijima’s assistance had made it bearable, and he thought of Oikawa’s resentment. He couldn’t reconcile the two.

“That’s true,” Oikawa sighed, toeing the ground. “Things would have been very different without him.” He glanced up at Hajime. “He even took me in for the worst of it, did you know? Taught me something about dragons, taught me about the forest, even taught me how to read a little.”

“Then why?”

He shrugged. “Because he also offered to cut off my horns.”

Whatever Hajime reply had been expecting, it hadn’t been that. He couldn’t hide his shock.

Oikawa smiled, but his eyes were colder than Hajime had ever seen them. “Imagine that!” he said, and giggled a little. “Oh, Iwa-chan, why don’t you let me chop off a few of your fingers, you don’t _really_ need them, right?”

“But…but you don’t need your horns?” Then, worried Oikawa might take that the wrong way, he scrambled for a way to clarify, but Oikawa spoke first.

“You don’t get it,” he scowled, faux-cheeriness gone. “It wouldn’t be real. It would make me feel worse. In the end, he still wanted me to be like him – that’s why I hate him. I’d rather be alone.”

Hajime didn’t know how to respond; his chest had tightened and he felt acutely out of his depth, part of him suddenly regretting bringing on the conversation altogether. Oikawa had gone quiet now, head lowered, and Hajime bit his lip. “You’re not alone, though, you know?” he finally said. “I’m not going anywhere. And besides,” he punched Oikawa lightly in the shoulder, trying for a smile. “I don’t really see what’s so different about you, anyway. You’re the same as any human brat I know.”

Oikawa looked up at that, and for a moment the sadness in his eyes seemed to intensify. It dissipated just as quickly and he didn’t give Hajime a chance to dwell on it; his smile returned, fake as it was, and he lifted his nose. “I think you mean ‘better’,” he said loftily. “I’m Iwa-chan’s favorite ~ ”

“Never.”

“Always.”

“I take it back,” Hajime said. “I’m ditching you first chance I get.”

Oikawa smiled genuinely at that, and Hajime let out a sigh of relief.

They had the rest of the afternoon left to waste, and chose to spend it climbing up the peak of a hill past the river. While Kaiya circled the air above them, a stark indigo figure diving in and out of sight, they settled down on the hillside. The village had disappeared behind them and the reaching landscape was all that was visible, the river carving through and branching out like a vein towards the blue-grey mountains and sun. On the other side of those mountains lay the capital and the king’s guard. Hajime’s heart ached after it, and yet the ache wasn’t as bad as it was before.

“One day when Kaiya’s grown enough to ride,” Oikawa began, breaking the silence, “I’m going to fly far away from here. I’d like to see the ocean, I think.”

Hajime picked at the grass. “I’ll look forward to the day I’m rid of you, then.”

“Don’t be silly, Iwa-chan! We’ve _established_ this. You’re going to be there, too.”

“You can’t just kidnap me,” he said, even though he was secretly relieved. For all his bluster, he hated the thought of Oikawa flying off someplace to have adventures without him. He didn’t like to think about what his own desire to leave Seijoh would mean, either. That was a question for another time.

“I _am_ a demon, so.”

“I guess seeing the ocean wouldn’t be too bad,” Hajime admitted. “Even if it means being stuck with you.”

“I’m the only joy in your life.”

“Pretty shitty life, then.”

Oikawa clicked his tongue. “Your grandmother would be ashamed.”

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t know you.”

“I’d like her to, though,” Oikawa said softly.

Hajime bit his lip. “One day,” he assured.

“Yeah,” Oikawa sighed. “One day.”

They lapsed into silence, drifting off into their own thoughts. At some point Hajime lay down, watching clouds lull across the afternoon sky above and tracing shapes in them until drowsiness settled over him. Oikawa shuffled closer and rested his head against Hajime’s chest. It didn’t cross his mind to find the sudden closeness strange. It felt kind of nice, like something they always did.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa spoke up again, just as Hajime was beginning to drift off.

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad I met you.”

Hajime blinked, caught off guard by the unabashed sincerity in Oikawa’s words and expression. But of course, that was the thing about Oikawa Tooru: he was annoying and artificial, sickly-sweet and flippant, except for when he wasn’t. Then he turned painfully, irrationally honest, and it was like wading into a shallow pool thinking you could stand in it but suddenly discovering you couldn’t. Hajime would never really learn to see these moments coming or how to keep his balance when they hit. He was twelve years old and did not know or think or care about this.

He relaxed his head again, closed his eyes to the sun, and smiled.

“Yeah. Me too, dumbass.”

 


End file.
